Troublesome
by Savae
Summary: [Post-game / Squall-centric / Oneshot] After years of being twisted and shaped into the man everyone else wanted him to be, Squall had a moment of clarity.


Troublesome

_Don't fix me._

He stared off into space because her eyes were too intense. Her hands were gripping his, so warm, insistent just like her. She smelled like violets and impossibility and she scared him to death. With one swift move she closed the space between them and delivered another electric kiss that sent shockwaves throughout his entire body.

He felt automatic (robotic).

She smiled as if it were nothing.

***

Everything was so troublesome.

He couldn't tune out the voices of his peers anymore, no matter how much he wanted to. There was always something wrong with him that he never thought was wrong before. Then he got a second opinion… They were so adamant about pointing his character flaws. He needed to get out more. He needed to be more empathetic. He needed to open up to them, they were his friends after all. Always something. Why?

What did knowing things get them, anyway?

It was a normal Tuesday. They were all eating lunch together, bullshitting with full mouths. He hunched over in his chair, one hand holding his head up, eyes cast downward at the unappealing meal before him. They would always try to steer the conversation in his direction, get him to talk to them, join in and speak his mind as if words were significant. He was just one person, barely a man, mostly a child. What could he possibly say that would make any difference to anyone, ever?

And yet he spoke, and as he did so, he felt the words flow out of his mouth freely, like he was used to it, like it was natural (hypocrite, fucking hypocrite).

And they listened as if it was important.

***

He lay in bed and wondered, as he often did, what would happen if he took a different path. Would he still be the same person if he lived with his father? He had distanced himself from the man ever since he found out the truth, but the childlike curiosity remained.

Or what if he quit? Quit being "Commander Squall Leonhart of the Balamb Garden SeeD Forces" and moved away to live anonymously in Dollet, far from everyone (Rinoa). He'd become a bartender, and he'd smoke cigarettes and occasionally pot, and he'd drive a piece of shit car, and he'd learn how to half-ass play the guitar, and he'd be twenty like he was supposed to be.

And then he rolled over and she was there, asleep, soft and beautiful and tangible unlike his dreams, unlike him. He ran his calloused hands across her pastel skin, gently pushed her hair out of her face. A small smile formed on her lips then, even in slumber. She loved him, or at least lusted over him, and he couldn't run away from that, no matter how much he wanted to. There was something in his head or maybe his heart (he wasn't quite sure which) that was keeping him anchored to the girl.

She needed him (he needed her to need him there).

He held her as if he was in love.

***

He sat by himself on the patio of a pretentious coffee shop, drinking earl grey tea and reading through some mission reports. The April sun was shining brightly, so bright that he needed to wear sunglasses to take the glare out of the white paper. He didn't mind though; it felt warm on his bare arms, and the sound of the ocean and distant murmurs of passers-by was somewhat soothing. Those voices didn't demand his attention; they were white noise, pleasant and subdued.

For a moment, he almost lost himself in the environment. It was a nice feeling, kind of like floating. It didn't last, however; something in his brain snapped him back into commander mode, and he was staring at the papers again, Garden emblem telling him to smarten the hell up, get his act together. He was a SeeD, after all, and SeeDs weren't supposed to float or daydream or lose themselves in trivial moments.

_Mission ID: 234-X2A_

_Client: The Republic of Galbadia_

_Contact: General James Macintyre_

_Objective: To suppress the anti-government resistance members who wish to overthrow the current Galbadian government…_

…_Do I really want to do this?_

He stopped again, looked at the reports in his hands. The Garden emblem was boldly printed in the upper-right corner of each one, all the type set neatly within the bounds of the standard report template. They looked like a million other reports that had come before, all falling under Garden codes and oh-so-official and suddenly he realized that he didn't give a flying fuck.

And then he realized that he didn't belong here.

And then he realized that he fucked up. Badly. His entire life had been governed by someone else, ever since he had been born. People generated ideas of whom they thought he was and he made himself fit their moulds because he didn't know what else to do. He was certainly good at it, but it was all so…

_Stupid. I am so fucking stupid._

He sat there for a moment, livid, disgusted with himself (the machine).

And then he did something about it, as if it mattered.

***

Rinoa was lonely for approximately three and a half weeks, and then she found a new boy (project) to occupy herself with. Maybe it wasn't love after all.

Balamb Garden went without a commander for 13 hours. Commander Xu has excelled at her job ever since. All operations continued on as per usual, and SeeD lived to see another day.

His friends wondered and talked about him in past tense, because talking fixed all their problems; good thing they were all so open with each other.

***

Somewhere in Dollet, some boy with a Balamb accent sat in his sparsely furnished apartment with a new acoustic guitar, reading tablature off the internet and not caring if it was accurate. It didn't matter because for once, he was doing what he wanted to and not for the sake of someone else.

He felt normal (whatever that was).

And then he smiled as if he was happy.


End file.
